


The Seven

by Bolt_DMC



Category: Bolt (2008)
Genre: Backstory, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Humor, Movie Reference, Music, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Peril, Puppies, Suggestive Themes, Toilet humor, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 03:10:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20400706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bolt_DMC/pseuds/Bolt_DMC
Summary: Bolt’s backstory. When we first see him in the film, Bolt is the only one of his breed seemingly abandoned in an animal shelter, accompanied by five pound-mates. How did he get there and why? Who are his parents? Who are those other puppies? This story suggests a scenario. Primary cultural references include "The Magnificent Seven" (1960) and "Seven Samurai," as well as music by R.E.M. and films such as "The Lost Weekend" and "The Wizard Of Oz."





	The Seven

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: 2002-2003.
> 
> For Jason K.

1.

The eccentric little mongrel named Blaze was unique -- truly unlike any dog that had ever existed, or would most likely ever exist again. An unusual combination consisting primarily of American white shepherd with healthy dollops of Berger Blanc Suisse and Hinks bull terrier mixed in, he would also claim -- depending on the day -- to be part husky, part wolf, part wolverine, or a descendent of Lassie, Benji, Toto, Balto, or Buck from "The Call of the Wild." He was pure white with a large bushy tail, short legs, big feet, huge erect ears, piercing brown eyes, and a short muzzle that ended in a large black nose.

Some psychologists say there is no such thing as the Napoleon Complex, but one would likely disagree if they had spent much time around Blaze. He thought very highly of himself (whether he had done anything to merit praise or not), he was sometimes aggressive and short-tempered, and he was a reckless risk-taker. If dogs could rock climb, bungee jump, or run river rapids, he would have done all these things many times. The other pooches in the Silver Lake section of Los Angeles, where he had lived all his life, thought he was crazy.

Perhaps they were right.

He often made a game of running into traffic and dodging cars, or beating trains to crossings -- and so far, he had emerged unscathed every time. The little white mutt also fancied himself quite a ladies' man, and while he had been the cause of several unwanted surprise litters in the area, his brusque and truculent manner didn't make him universally popular with the opposite sex.

The first three-plus years of Blaze’s life so far had been a constant cycle from assorted shelters to various homes to the streets. With one exception, something always seemed to go wrong when he was adopted out: a careless nip, fits of barking, piddle accidents, scratching up curtains and furniture, or a combination of these. As a result, he found himself homeless on a regular basis.

His most stable residence had been at a trailer park during the year he spent with Roscoe, a down-on-his-luck fellow who had worked production crew at a major film studio until he had been fired for drunkenness and stealing. Roscoe now spent his days cobbling together odd jobs, boozing heavily, and watching old movies on TV -- this last seemingly for the sole purpose of criticizing them and complaining about the fakeness of their special effects.

"Look at that shot of Dorothy on that Kansas road," he griped to Blaze once while re-watching "The Wizard of Oz." "See? She only walks up so far and the camera has to cut away. It's a fake backdrop. Real convincing, guys… "

Roscoe and his canine companion felt like kindred spirits and took to each other right away. The man also didn't mind when Blaze disappeared to explore for hours or even days at a time. He knew the dog would come back home eventually, and he was right.

Through Roscoe, the little white mongrel discovered that he liked movies and music. His favorite from the latter category was early R.E.M., arguably the greatest indie-pop group of them all, with "Life’s Rich Pageant" the album he most enjoyed ("Murmur," however, was a close runner-up). Tracks like the crunching "Begin the Begin," the yearning "What If We Give It Away?," the driving "Just a Touch," and the bouncy cover of "Superman" in particular were songs he could listen to over and over again.

Unfortunately, Roscoe had been slowly killing himself with cheap beer and rotgut bourbon for years by the time he adopted the dog, and eventually he succeeded. Blaze returned from his latest escapade one day to find his master slumped in the easy chair. The pooch knew immediately that the man was dead, likely from a heart attack or stroke -- possibly both, given the way he had been abusing his body over the years. There was a half-finished drink on the table next to him, and the movie "The Lost Weekend" was playing on the television. Blaze fled hastily in case anyone decided to blame him for his owner’s death.

2.

It was October 2002, and Blaze once again found himself on the streets. He hadn’t experienced female companionship in a while and was resolutely determined to do something about that. Recently, he had heard rumors of a puppy mill in his part of Silver Lake and decided to see if they were true.

As it turned out, they were. The big problem from Blaze’s viewpoint, though, was the two layers of fencing spaced about twenty yards apart separating him from what he was sure would be a harem’s worth of luscious ladies. The outer fence was high so he dug underneath it, finally crawling through about a half hour later. A leap that would have made Rin Tin Tin proud took him over the interior fence and into the compound.

The dogs were lounging around the property, most in cages though some not. Blaze first encountered three wire enclosures, containing one each of a female boxer, Irish setter, and Siberian husky. All were getting on in years and quite chubby, but still had plenty of feisty zip.

The boxer grinned lasciviously. "Hey Corabell," she said to the setter. "Willya look at the talent that just waltzed in."

"Yeah, not bad," she mused with more than passing interest. "Y’know what they say, don'tcha Dorabell? Sometimes big things come in small packages, if you get my meaning."

Dorabell nodded. "Hunky for a little squirt, ain’t he? I wouldn't mind givin’ him a tumble or three."

"Don't look like a purebred, though," said the setter.

"I don't think so, either," the boxer replied. "He wasn't brought here as a stud. Probably jumped the fence and was hopin’ for a little tail."

Corabell smirked. "Hey, let's see if we can have ourselves a bit of extracurricular fun. And if he came here for a ‘little’ tail, that means you. You've got the littlest tail around here."

Upon seeing Blaze, the husky in the neighboring cage backed herself into the door suggestively. "Hey there, hot stuff!" she called out. "See anything ya like?"

The setter giggled. "There goes Mae again, takin’ the subtle approach as usual. Why am I not surprised?"

"Ladies, ladies, ladies!" said Blaze, trying to sound as suave and worldly as possible. "No need to squabble over me. There’s plenty enough dogly goodness here to go around."

"Well, lover boy," replied Mae salaciously. "If you can figure out a way to open our cages, we’ll fulfill your wildest fantasies. Bet you'd like to be part of a fearsome foursome wit’ us, wouldn't ya?"

This was an invitation far too good for Blaze to pass up. "Allow me to demonstrate my artful legerdemain," he grinned. "I’m a direct descendant of Mr. Peabody, and I of course inherited his massive brainpower. You’ll all be out of those cages and onto my hot bod in a trice." The little white mutt found it hard to deliver on his promise, though, as the stubborn cage latches proved impossible for the thumb-deprived pooch to disengage.

"What’sa matter, little guy -- can't pop the lock?" teased Corabell.

Blaze frowned. "Hey bitch, who you callin’ ‘little’!" he barked. "I'll have you know I’m big where it counts! Can I help it if I'm not Houdini?"

"You gotta spring us out if you want us, Einstein," Dorabell said impatiently. "Nobody said you gotta buy us dinner or nothin’, but you need to work for it some. We’re worth it -- guaranteed."

The little white mutt pawed at the cages in frustration for a few more minutes before finally giving up. "Eh -- sorry, gals. Looks like it just wasn't meant to be. You make sure to look me up next time you get outta the clink, okay?" With that, he sauntered off to find an unfettered female.

"All bark, no bite," groaned Mae. "He don’t know what he's missin’."

The boxer sighed. "Yeah. Been keepin’ the customers satisfied for five years now. And y’know, I don't like to brag much, but I’m pretty darned good at what I do. Probably would’a had some weird lookin’ puppies with him, though. Maybe just as well."

Blaze continued to sniff around until he found an unconfined female whose look and odor he liked. Her name was Cheyenne, and she was a purebred American white shepherd. Approximately six years old, she had spent most of her life pregnant or nursing. She had whelped large litters of handsome pups, and though nearing the end of her productive years, she was still fertile. The female shepherd had been quite the looker several years ago, but now just appeared tired and worn-out. Her last few litters had produced only one or two offspring, as sometimes happens with older females in puppy mills.

To Blaze, she was beautiful in a slightly ravaged cougar-like way, and eminently mate-worthy. He confidently strolled up to her and said, "Hey there, foxy babe -- how’s about makin’ a little time with me?"

Cheyenne rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Eh -- I’m a girl in a puppy mill. I don't say no. They want puppies, I make it happen." She eyed him a little suspiciously. "Funny -- they've always mated me with purebred white sheps before. What gives? They trying for something different now?"

The little white mutt thought fast. "Yeah -- yeah. The guys who own me wanna see if they can get something that looks like a mini white shepherd. Kind of a -- a new thing, y’know. If it catches on, you’ll make history."

"Yeah, okay," grumbled Cheyenne in a bored voice. "You're not really my type, but I don't ask questions. C’mon pal." They disappeared behind a tree for some time.

Suddenly, a man in a striped shirt came running out from the adjoining house. "Hey! Hey! What's goin’ on here? Where'd you come from, you little scrounge hound?" he yelled. At first, he waved his arms, but then stopped to grab a baseball bat.

"Gotta run, hot mama," panted Blaze. "Don't mind me, I'll show myself out." He ducked just in time as the man swung at him, missing the canine intruder by inches. The little mutt dashed away, leaping like a champion over the inner fence and then scooting unceremoniously under the outer fence, leaving the man in the striped shirt to swear profusely.

Blaze ran like mad and yelled like crazy, excited beyond all expectation at the heady mix of steamy sex and a narrow escape from danger. "Wow! Wow! Wow!" he shouted, though it only sounded like frantic barking to the perplexed humans who dodged out of the dog’s way. "That was the best adventure ever! I feel great! I feel happy! I feel so alive! Yahoo! Yahoo!"

The little white mongrel recklessly dashed into the street, dancing in and out of cars with practiced ease and derisively ignoring the angry honks of horns and squeals of brakes. Scampering around the corner and out of sight, Blaze had no idea that his off-the-cuff rendezvous with Cheyenne would result in his most meaningful contribution to the world.

3.

At the start of the new year, Cheyenne gave birth one more time, producing a charming little white shepherd puppy and its stillborn twin. "Like Elvis Presley," she thought as she licked the small survivor. "Maybe that's a good omen. If he’s half as successful in whatever life path he takes, he’ll be fortunate indeed. But we'll see." The mother dog nudged him with her nose so he could nurse properly. Even at this stage, he was energetic and clearly knew what he wanted, heading eagerly for the nipple and feeding lustily. "I've got a good feeling about this little guy," Cheyenne thought. "Could tell right away his father was a real pistol. Good genes, hopefully."

Once his eyes and ears opened, the little white pup quickly discovered a whole range of exciting things to explore. Cheyenne urged him to find other puppies to play with, telling him that socializing early was important.

He quickly found a group of youngsters about his age, and they spent lots of time wrestling with each other and talking. There were six others besides the little white shepherd: a female Jack Russell terrier, a male collie, a male beagle, a female Labrador retriever, and twin male German shepherds. None of them had names yet -- that would come once they were adopted into loving homes. While just as rambunctious as his pals, the white shepherd puppy was far more quiet and thoughtful in nature and spoke only occasionally.

"Hey, watch it!" growled the collie to the Jack Russell terrier. "You play too rough! I gotta use that ear for listening, y’know?"

The terrier just teased him. "Awwww, what’sa matter? Big baby, scaredy cat! Scared of a girl? Lassie wasn't afraid of anything, you big coward!"

She was pounced immediately by the white shepherd. Even at this early age, he didn't like to see anyone get hurt. "Gotta be more careful. You may be just a girl, but you don't know your own strength sometimes. Be nice, okay?"

"Yeah -- maybe you're right," laughed the Jack Russell. "I am tougher than all you wussy boys around here. Or maybe… " she growled mischievously, "Maybe you'll thank me for toughenin’ you up. It’s dog eat dog out there!" She leaped onto the white shepherd pup and started mouthing his neck.

"Cannibal!" he yelped, squirming under the playful attack of the terrier. "Leggo! Leggo!"

"Wow -- you actually said more than two things in a row!" exclaimed the collie. The other pups often chided the shepherd on his taciturn nature.

"I prefer to be thought of as the strong, silent type," the little white pooch retorted.

"Ha, ha! Strong! Sez the guy who’s bein’ pinned by a girl!" taunted the terrier. She found it hard to keep her quarry down while they were both breaking out in a fit of puppy giggles, though.

4.

Having gotten the roughhousing out of their system, the youngsters began to chat.

"Mama says we’re probably not gonna have lots of time to spend with each other," said the beagle pup. "So we better enjoy being together while we can. Might only be another month or so."

"Naw, you don't know that," corrected the little Lab. "We might all get adopted into the same house or somethin’."

"Yeah -- by some crazy dog lady!" said the terrier with a laugh. "You’ll know her -- she'll be the one with the extra stinky house!"

The collie chuckled. "You say that as if it's a bad thing. Stinky’s all right by me."

"Speaking of which," sniffed the first German shepherd, "You must've found a dead squirrel or somethin’. You reek!"

"Dibs!" his twin yapped. "I call dibs. Where's that squirrel, anyway?"

"Not tellin’ you!" said the collie firmly. "By the time you guys get through rollin’ in it, there’ll be nothin’ left for me. And just how am I gonna get all nice and smelly again after Mama gives me my bath?"

"Aw heck, it's real easy to get all stunk up around here," the terrier groused. "They never clean anything. The place is covered with poop and old food and… "

"Yeah, it is pretty heavenly, isn't it?" interrupted the first German shepherd pup.

"Mama was tellin’ us about how close friends sometimes give themselves a group name. Like the Fantastic Four or the Dirty Dozen," said his twin.

"My mama was talkin’ about this great movie called ‘The Magnificent Seven’," mused the little beagle. "Kinda fits for us, doesn't it?"

The Lab frowned. "Aw, go on! My mama said that ‘Seven Samurai’ is a lots better film. They even snitched the idea for ‘The Magnificent Seven’ from it."

"You’re daffy!" said the smirking terrier. "We don't have any Akitas around here. Looks like we'll just have to stick to the good ol’ USA name."

Despite the Lab’s objections, The Magnificent Seven (or just The Seven, for short) was what they’d call themselves from then on. Their camaraderie would be tested soon enough, though.

5.

Six weeks after the little white shepherd was born, the man in the striped shirt disappeared without a trace. He had been tipped off that he was about to be arrested for tax evasion and bookmaking -- and given his list of priors, he knew he’d be facing a long jail term. With only essential belongings packed, he fled hastily to a country he hoped wouldn’t extradite him.

This was of course very bad news for the dogs, as no one came to attend to their needs. Many of the pooches were still stuck in cages, and all began to dehydrate and starve.

Poor Cheyenne panted and grew weak, eventually becoming unable to walk. Still, she did her best to make sure her puppy got milk, even as it drained the life out of her. "Sweetheart," she finally groaned, "I'm not gonna be able to help you much longer. But if I remember right, there’s a shed over by the house where there may be some food and formula stashed away. I can't get to it, but you and your puppy pals might be able to dig underneath the door. Better go soon, before you starve, too."

He rounded up The Seven and related what his mama had said. "It might be our only chance. Who knows when anybody’ll come by and feed us?"

The beagle pup sniffed sadly. "Yeah -- my mama’s already dead. We gotta do something."

"And our mama said the bigger dogs might try to eat us if we don't hide someplace," said one of the German shepherd puppies nervously. "Let's try it."

The shed was far enough away from the main puppy mill that no one noticed The Seven digging frantically until, one by one, they were able to slip under the door to safety. Once inside, they found boxes of formula and other edibles -- not a huge stash, but enough to get by for a week or so. They tore open boxes and cartons and ate ravenously.

After several days, the puppies began to wonder if they dared venture out yet. The shed had become less habitable with all the accumulated dog waste and spilled food.

"We better send two of us out to see what's going on," said the collie pup.

The white shepherd raised a paw. "I’ll volunteer," he exclaimed.

"And I'm right behind you," growled the Jack Russell.

They stealthily crept under the door and scurried from tree to bush to tree, the better to conceal themselves. What they saw once they reached the edge of the compound left them utterly horrified.

It was like something out of a "Mad Max" movie. The dogs in cages were mostly either dead or dying. Unable to get out, they lay flat on their sides or gruesomely twisted around in their frantic attempt to exit confinement. Those on the loose were reduced to fighting with each other, blood dribbling from bites and gashes as if from a leaky wine cask. Some feasted on their fallen comrades. Howls of pain and despair hung over the scene like acrid smoke.

"Oh my dog!" gasped the white shepherd. "We've gotta get out of here! Unless we plan on becoming someone's dinner."

The terrier shuddered. "C’mon, but keep it quiet. We're not on anybody's menu just yet, and I wanna keep it that way."

They fortunately made it back to the shed without incident.

6.

Despite receiving several complaints from the neighbors about loud barking, recurrent fighting sounds, and a gradually increasing stench, the personnel at the hopelessly disorganized and overworked local humane society took far too long to get a court order to check on the dogs. By the time they were finally able to enter the compound, it was much too late. Of the over 200 pooches originally in the puppy mill, only 41 made it out alive -- and about half of these had to be euthanized.

Among the survivors were Corabell, Dorabell, and Mae. Carrying extra weight on their frames had been a life saver, allowing them to last without food longer than many of their less fortunate sisters. They were dehydrated, gaunt, and lapsing in and out of consciousness when plucked from their cages, but at least they could be saved. They found themselves at an animal rescue facility in Los Feliz after spending several days recuperating in a veterinary hospital, housed together in a glass pen while awaiting adoption and in good enough spirits to make light of the horrors they had gone through.

"Nice to be part of the living again," said Corabell. "And it's quite the luxury bein’ here, gotta tell ya. I can actually stretch out and roll over without havin’ a bunch of wire mesh pokin’ me in the foot and ribs."

The boxer nodded. "Y’know, I’d almost forgotten I had ribs I was so chunky. Starvation diets ain’t my thing, but it sure did the trick, eh? Haven't been this trim in four years at least."

"Yeah, me too," said Mae. "I'm lookin’ like a real fox these days."

"Nah," joked the setter. "Unless ya got a buncha guys on horses and a gaggle of hounds on your tail, you ain’t no fox."

"Wonder if ‘Dog Fancy’ magazine wants to feature me as next month's centerfold model?" the husky giggled. "I’m hot lookin’ enough for it now."

"Sheesh, Mae!" snickered Dorabell. "Ya think there might actually be a male pooch who ain’t seen your goodies yet?"

"Wonder who’s gonna wind up adopting us?" mused Corabell.

"Me too," Mae concurred. "We shouldn’t be here too long, though. We’re still in the prime of life. Well, more or less, anyway."

"Mae, somehow I got a hunch some stripper’s gonna take a shine to you," grinned the boxer. "Kindred spirits and all that."

"Heck, you two could even do an onstage duet," chuckled the setter. "I can see it now -- Bubbles and Mae. Guys, come and get yourselves an eyeful and bring your dog, too. All for one low price!"

All three got a big laugh out of that scenario.

The Seven also managed to get through the ordeal successfully. When the men in hazmat suits discovered their hiding place, the little pooches had recently finished off all the food they could open and were covered in puppy filth -- but at least they were alive and in reasonably good shape. The pups were cleaned up, dewormed, given appropriate vaccinations, and fattened back to normal size. Their ultimate destination would be Silver Lake Animal Rescue, and hopefully good homes after that.

The youngsters found themselves together in a glass-sided enclosure with an open top, where they had plenty of room to romp and wrestle. The staff enjoyed their playful antics, none more so than the overnight keeper, Jamal. His night was usually spent watching television and munching a bucket's worth of extra crispy Knight’s Fried Chicken ("Lots better than that other KFC -- and sustainably farmed, on top of it all. What’s not to like?" he said to the puppies). As luck would have it, the movie "The Magnificent Seven” was one of the programs he enjoyed that first night. The little dogs sat and watched along intently over Jamal’s shoulder from their pen.

Truth be told, the Lab pup’s mama was right. While not as great a flick as "Seven Samurai," the American remake is arguably one of the most enjoyable guilty pleasure films of all time. A cobbled-together group of hired gunslingers defends the inhabitants of a poor Mexican border village from a predatory band of outlaws just because they feel it's the right thing to do, not for their usual fee. Art and culture are full of works like this: "Romanian Rhapsody No. 1" by Georges Enesco, "Trees" by Joyce Kilmer, "Washington Crossing the Delaware" by Emanuel Leutze, "Gilligan's Island," "Ghostbusters," "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac -- all are artistic statements that fall short in some abstract sense of "taste" or "quality," yet are still worth experiencing anyway. Though perhaps we don't readily admit to it.

"Boy, oh boy, did we ever pick a cool nickname for ourselves," the collie said excitedly. "I'd give anything to be that awesome guy who throws the knife. He didn't even need a gun to beat the bad guys. Seriously, now that's talent!"

" ’Course, if you really want cool," offered the first German shepherd twin, "It starts and ends with the bald guy running the show. Didn't know you could be bald and a tough guy too."

"What? You gonna get all your hair shaved off or somethin’?" chortled the beagle. "Boy, you'd be really funny-lookin’ like that!"

The other German shepherd twin laughed. "If you did that, people at least would finally be able to tell us apart."

"Well," sighed the Lab pup. "That was kind of a fun film. But like my mama would say, ‘It’s no "Citizen Kane" ‘."

"What I’ve heard is that even ‘Citizen Kane’ is no ‘Citizen Kane’," chuckled the collie puppy.

The white shepherd looked puzzled. "Well, that doesn’t make any sense. How can ‘Citizen Kane’ not be ‘Citizen Kane’ if that’s what it is?"

"No -- no," explained the collie. "It’s supposed to be a metaph… a metaph… Darn, what’s that word again…? "

"Metamucil?" said the German shepherd pup who was Yul Brynner’s biggest fan.

"That’s a laxative, you ding-a-ling!" his twin giggled. "Jeez -- it’s always about poop with you, isn’t it?" Everybody laughed at that one, bathroom humor being universally funny to kids of all species.

"I'll still bet my mama was right about ‘Seven Samurai’ being better, though," the Lab insisted.

The terrier finally lost patience at this. "Your mama! Your mama! You think she was soooo smart, don’t ya? Well, y’know what I think? I think your mama was just a big doody head who didn't know nothin’ about nothin’!" she shouted.

At this, the Lab puppy burst into tears. "You shouldn't say things like that about my mama! She was the best mama ever! And… and now she’s dead, and I'll never see her again!" she wailed.

The white shepherd growled menacingly and jumped on top of the Jack Russell, pinning her to the ground. "That was real mean of you! It's not nice to say bad things about somebody's mama! Especially when they’re dead! All of our mamas are dead now! You take that back!"

"Yeah -- say you're sorry!" snarled the little beagle. "Shouldn'ta done that! How'd you like it if somebody said mean things about your dead mama?"

The terrier pup whimpered and became contrite. She had crossed a line and she knew it. "Guess you're right. My mama said terriers can be kinda pushy and blunt sometimes. Looks like she knew what she was talkin’ about." She wriggled out from under the white shepherd, walked sheepishly over to the despondent Lab, and put a paw on her shoulder. "Hey, look -- look, I… I didn't mean to be so hurtful. You’re a really sweet kid underneath it all, too, you know that? I shouldn’ta said something that mean. Really shouldn't have."

The Lab sniffed and wiped her eyes. "You mean that?" she asked.

"Yeah," she said purposefully "I mean it. Honest. Cross my heart and everything. In fact, I'm gonna make it up to you. Anybody tries to pick on you from now on is gonna have to answer to me. And that's for keeps, for as long as we’re together, if it's just till tomorrow or a hundred years."

The little Lab smiled warmly and hugged her. "Thanks. That means a lot to me," she replied gratefully. As it turned out, the terrier would need to keep her promise for a long time, as the two of them were adopted as a pair into the same family. She stayed true to her word, though, and they remained best friends for the rest of their lives.

7.

The next day was the initial time The Seven would be offered up to prospective owners, and the first to be adopted was the collie puppy. A sweet Filipino couple with three children decided he would be just perfect for their ranch house and big fenced-in yard. They had the dog brought out of the glass-sided enclosure, put a collar and tag on him, and headed over to the counter to sign papers.

"Hey, what’d they name you, huh?" asked the Jack Russell eagerly.

The collie pup laughed. "I'll have you all know you’re in the presence of royalty now. They’re gonna call me Prince!" The other puppies giggled and wagged their tails.

"Dog-speed! Dog-speed!" shouted the little white shepherd. "Be well and happy!"

"Dog-speed! Dog-speed!" the rest echoed with enthusiasm.

The two German shepherd brothers grinned at each other. "Wanna do it?" asked one.

"Dare ya!" said the other.

"Double dog dare ya!" was the reply.

"Okay -- you’re on!" said the second pup.

With that, the twins raucously began to sing the commanding accompaniment fragment that starts the theme to "The Magnificent Seven." -- "Da… da-dada… da-dadadada… Da… da-dada… da-dadadada… "

The rest howled out the soaring main melody as if on cue -- "Na-naaaaaah… na-na-na-naaaaaah… Na-naaaaaah… na-na-na-naaaaaah… "

The collie grinned broadly. He couldn't have asked for a more rousing sendoff. "Love you, guys! You're the best!" he yelled as he was led out the door on a leash.

8.

The white shepherd puppy was the first to wake up the next morning. He yawned and stretched, looked around and panted, then happily realized he had the Mr. Carrot squeaky toy all to himself for a change. His pals gleefully tumbled over him shortly after, hoping the nearby shelter keeper would give them breakfast, but the white shepherd continued to tussle with his chew toy. And then, as he lay flipped on his back, he froze with excitement. The little auburn-haired girl who had just walked in gasped happily the minute she saw him. The pup greeted her with energetic barks and slobbery kisses as she held him up, buckled a collar and tag around his neck, and hugged him tightly.

"You’re a good boy. You’re my good boy," she said warmly.

As the auburn-haired girl and her mom went over to sign papers, the other puppies crowded up to the glass. "What’d she name you?" asked the beagle.

"I’m Bolt!" said the little white shepherd proudly.

"Wow, cool name!" grinned the Lab pup. "Real cool!"

"Bye, guys! Love you lots! I’ll never forget you!" shouted Bolt as he was carried towards the door. He smiled happily as howls of "Dog-speed!" followed by a spirited rendition of "The Magnificent Seven" theme song accompanied his exit.


End file.
